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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655197">Plan B(eta)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shey/pseuds/Shey'>Shey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), First Kiss, Getting Together, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Possessive Peter Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Steter Week 2020, Untrustworthy Alan Deaton, pack of two</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:27:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,881</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shey/pseuds/Shey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles always has a contingency plan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Steter Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Plan B(eta)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Steter Week! I made it! (Barely) I was determined to post <em>something</em> this year, so here you go. </p><p>Thank you to Twisted_Mind for betaing and hand-holding! You're wonderful, as always!! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The quiet shatters as Stiles slams into Peter’s apartment the same way he always does—in a whirlwind of flailing limbs, already in the middle of a rant that Peter doesn’t bother to decipher. </p><p>“—say it’s like arguing with a brick wall, but I actually think that’s offensive to walls.”</p><p>Stiles hip-checks the door shut and staggers across the room, his arms weighed down with a large plastic storage tub and a half-dozen reusable shopping bags. He pauses, physically and verbally after three steps, his mouth hanging open as he remembers Peter’s rule about shoes in the apartment. He manages to backtrack and kick them off without face-planting or dropping anything, then continues his beeline to the kitchen. Seconds later there’s the thump and clatter of things landing on the counter.</p><p>No part of this is strange or unusual. What makes Peter stand up from his sprawled position on the couch to follow him is the pure, peppercorn-scented rage that drifts in Stiles’ wake. Peter leans in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. </p><p>Stiles is still muttering under his breath as he unloads what looks like half an apothecary onto the countertops. “—entitled asshat—don’t care who he—why I ever put up with—” There are dozens of glass jars, bundles of herbs and roots, and what Peter’s afraid might be a children’s chemistry set. </p><p>“Care to explain what’s going on, sweetheart?” </p><p>Stiles barely glances up from his sorting, he doesn’t even flush or stammer at the endearment like he normally would. “Scott tried to bite me.”</p><p>Peter’s breath freezes, his vision pulses at the edges, and a growl wrenches its way out of his chest, making the herb-filled jars rattle. His wolf is suddenly battering the inside of his skull, raging <em>mineminemine</em>. Peter tries to swallow it back, but his voice still comes out supernaturally rough. “He<em> what</em>?”</p><p>“I know, right?” An almost lupine snarl curls Stiles’ upper lip. “After all this time, he suddenly wants me to be ‘protected’. Says staying human is too big a risk with things the way they are.” </p><p>He shoves the empty containers out of the way, pulls down one of Peter’s cutting boards and his best santoku, then starts to organize the collected herbs and roots, movements jerky. “I might understand if he’d offered the bite to my dad too, or his mom. Public servants and first responders are in a hell of a lot more danger than I am.” He slams a piece of ginger down violently, fresh dirt scattering. “Fucking <em>hypocrite</em>.”</p><p>Peter’s going to kill Scott McCall. From the sound of it, Stiles might finally be willing to help him.</p><p>“When I told him to go to hell he got all morally-righteous puppy-dog.” Stiles pitches his voice high and whiney in an unflattering imitation of the True Alpha’s. “<em>You have to understand, Stiles. This is the only way to keep you safe. It’s for the best.</em>”</p><p>The beds of Peter’s nails burn, his claws aching to come out. He bites down on the first two things he wants to say and settles on, “I assume you convinced him otherwise?”</p><p>Flicking upward with one hand, Stiles lets his spark jump to life, crackling across his fingers. “Pretty sure I got the message across.”</p><p>Peter forces out the expected chuckle and lets some of his tension loosen at the reminder that Stiles is more than formidable these days. “And here I thought you couldn’t get any sexier.”</p><p>Stiles snorts and ducks his head, his cheeks finally darkening in the beautiful blush that’s more than half the reason Peter makes those comments. “Only you would find attacking our alpha attractive, creeperwolf.”</p><p>Peter shrugs. Stiles isn’t wrong. “He does realize that, with your magic, it’s extremely unlikely the bite would even take?”</p><p>“You would think, but our resident skeevy druid told him it was a <em>great </em>idea.” Stiles sneers.</p><p>That’s it. Peter needs him in touching distance. He stalks closer and reaches out to squeeze Stiles’ shoulder, thumb brushing past his shirt collar to scent him. “It sounds like someone should have a word with Deaton.”
</p><p>Stiles lets out a breath and the peppercorn-rage starts to dissipate as his muscles loosen. “Speaking of. I’m still wondering why you let him live, you know, back when you were a spree-killer.” He sets a pile of something that’s probably lemongrass in front of Peter with an absent-minded, “Chop that.”</p><p>Peter gives him a feral grin and picks up the knife. “Would it make you feel better to know he’s at the top of the to-do list for my next break with sanity?”</p><p>“I probably shouldn’t answer that, on the grounds that I would be encouraging your bad behavior.” He finishes counting out a pile of small red berries and adds them to the mortar. “Course, I do wonder what would happen if sketchy-druid <em>somehow </em>lost his connection to the territory.” He glances at Peter out of the corner of his eye. “For example, if another, stronger pack claimed it.”</p><p>Chopping the lemongrass is short work, and Peter moves on to cleaning the ginger root Stiles gives him next. “A lovely fantasy, darling, but we would need a willing alpha for that to work.”</p><p>Stiles makes an exasperated sound and rolls his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Peter. You’ve been an alpha since last fall, at least.” He glances over and lifts a hand to tap his temple, a smirk curling his lips. “You stopped flashing your eyes at the betas. Dead giveaway, dude.”</p><p>The flicker of shock, followed by a rush of possessive pride makes Peter pause and breathe deep to steady himself. Brilliant boy. He sets down the knife and steps into Stiles’ space, crowds close and lets his eyes flare red. </p><p>Stiles’ breath catches and his mouth drops open enticingly. “Shit, that’s hot.” He seems to hear himself a moment too late and flinches. “I mean…” He shuts his eyes and groans, which doesn’t do anything to hide the scent of his arousal.</p><p>This day just keeps getting better and better. Peter leans in and drags his nose along the sharp line of Stiles’ jaw. “I’m so glad you approve, darling. Now.” He lets his lips brush below Stiles’ ear, breathing in the spike of flustered embarrassment. “What are we making exactly?”</p><p>There’s a blank pause before Stiles answers, and Peter can feel his struggle not to respond to the overly familiar scenting. Another heartbeat and Stiles leans away, gives himself a little shake, then turns back to his herbs. “Magical super-soldier serum. I need you at full strength if we’re going to take back the territory.”</p><p>Peter tilts his head and shifts so he’s leaning over Stiles’ shoulder, close enough to make the quick thump of his heart increase, but not touching. He wants to close the remaining distance, to wrap around Stiles’ back and breathe him in, but letting him come to Peter will make the victory even sweeter. “What makes you think I’m not at full strength?”</p><p>Stiles shivers at the hot breath on his neck but still won’t give in. “Other than you bemoaning the fact for the last three years? I’m not stupid, Peter, why else would you stick with His True-Alphaness if you didn’t need his power?”</p><p>Peter has to laugh. The ridiculous boy figured out months ago that Peter’s an alpha, but hasn’t guessed <em>why </em>he stayed. “I don’t know, Stiles, what reason could I possibly have for hiding my status and putting up with Scott all this time?”</p><p>Stiles tries to elbow Peter away at that, but it’s a weak effort. “Exactly, dude. Power is about the only thing the guy has going for him. He’s a shitty alpha.”</p><p>Peter reaches past him and removes the knife from Stiles’ hand, setting it on the counter, then takes him by the shoulders and turns him gently until they’re facing each other. “Stiles.”</p><p>“What?” He’s blushing again, eyes darting, jittery at Peter’s proximity, at his touch.</p><p>“I didn’t stay for Scott.” </p><p>“What—?”</p><p>“Do you really think there’s anyone in that useless pack I care about, other than you?”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?” Stiles meets his eyes, gaping at him now, lost for words. </p><p>Peter can’t help himself when he finally shifts closer and braces his hands on the counter, bracketing Stiles’ hips. He locks their gazes and breathes in Stiles’ shock as if twines with sudden desire. “I’ve been waiting for you, sweet—”</p><p>Stiles surges forward and cuts him off with a messy, enthusiastic kiss. He fists his hands in Peter’s shirt, white-knuckled, as if there’s any chance Peter is going to let him get away now. </p><p>Peter wraps strong arms around him and pulls them flush together from chest to knees as he licks into the soft, willing mouth, triumph rumbling in his chest.</p><p>When Stiles eventually breaks the kiss he’s grinning, a laugh bubbling in his voice. “Quit it.”</p><p>Peter takes in his flushed cheeks and swollen, spit-slick lips with gleeful satisfaction. “Quit what?”</p><p>“I can <em>feel </em>you gloating.”</p><p>Peter runs a broad palm down Stiles’ back, firm and possessive until he can cup that tempting ass and squeeze. “Can you blame me?”</p><p>Stiles shudders and lets his head fall forward with a groan. “I refuse to contribute to your oversized ego,” he mutters into Peter’s chest, then belies the words by nuzzling at the collar of his v-neck.</p><p>“My ego is perfectly proportionate, I can assure you.” Peter slowly rolls their hips together in dirty emphasis, making Stiles’ breath hitch. “Though, I’ve always found the hands-on approach more effective than bragging.”</p><p>Stiles grins against his throat in response.</p>
<p></p><div class="center"><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p></div><p>Waking up from a nap with Stiles, naked, soft, and a little bit sticky, sprawled across him is going right to the top of Peter’s list of best ways to start the day. Or the evening in this case. </p><p>Peter smooths a hand down his back, putting pressure on the long, lean muscles on either side of his spine.</p><p>Stiles groans, his cock twitching against Peter’s hip. “Fuuuck...”</p><p>“Yes, we did.” Peter smirks and digs his fingers in more firmly, enjoying the way Stiles alternates between arching and melting against him. “And as much as I’d like another round, we should probably talk about Scott and Deaton.”</p><p>Stiles buries his face further into Peter’s neck, his growled, “fuck them” coming out muffled.</p><p>“I’d rather not, thanks.” He gives Stiles’ ass a smack in retaliation for that mental image. The resulting hitched breath and spike of arousal gets filed away for later. </p><p>“Fine,” Stiles grumbles, cheeks adorably flushed as he rolls off of Peter and flops on his back. “But I want you to know I’m lodging a formal protest.”</p><p>Peter takes a moment to enjoy the beautiful distraction sprawled out on his sheets. “Protest, sweetheart?”</p><p>“Yeah. You want to <em>talk</em>, and I—” Stiles props himself up on his elbow and gives Peter a dirty smirk. “I was hoping we could strengthen our pack bond, Alpha.”</p><p>The rush of power that comes with that declaration makes Peter’s vision shift and his fangs drop. He pounces on his laughing boy and pins him to the bed, then proceeds to teach him why you should never—or in Stiles’ case, maybe <em>always</em>—tease your alpha.</p><p>Their plans can wait. They have plenty of time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was legitimately named "Titles Suck" for a while. Thank Twist for saving you all from that terribleness.</p><p>There's a chance that this will get a second part at some point, but I'm marking it as complete for now. (I can't handle another WiP at the moment!) </p><p>I hope you're all staying safe and healthy. Come hang out with me on Tumblr. <a href="https://shey-elizabeth.tumblr.com/">shey-elizabeth</a> I reblog lots of Steter and occasionally rant about how hard writing is.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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